


Hardening Hearts

by AkiRah



Series: Hold The Sky [9]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Assassins show up, Bards are often Bastards, Denerim: Part 1, Hardening Alistair, Hardening Leliana, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4843643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surana arrives in Denerim for the first time looking for information about Brother Genitivi and the Urn of Sacred Ashes. She also meets Alistair's sister, discovers the truth about why Leliana was hiding in a chantry and visits her first ever brothel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our Many Masks

Lanaya’s clan was grateful enough for having the werewolves dealt with that Surana didn’t think there’d be any cause to worry about food until they reached Denerim at the earliest. And Denerim had a market, so they’d be fine. 

She walked near the back of the company, keeping pace with Wynne in case the older mage fell unconscious again and watching Stanton attempt to convince Morrigan to play fetch.

Morrigan was refusing outright and occasionally shouting and threatening. 

Surana was trying _very hard_ not to press for an explanation, but the way she kept glancing over and chewing on the inside of her cheek made her concern apparent. Wynne sighed, leaning heavily on her stick. 

“I think I owe you an explanation for what happened in the forest.” 

“Please,” Surana managed a smile. “I’ve been worried. You just sort of . . . fell over.” Surana ran her free hand over the bumps of her braid. 

“Something happened before you arrived while I was defending the tower,” Wynne explained. “You remember Petra?” 

“Your apprentice, yes.” 

“She encountered a demon. It would have killed her had I not intervened.” Wynne’s wizened mouth tucked into a small, sad smile. “I did not survive the encounter.” 

Surana stopped walking and her brow knit together while she studied Wynne. “...Am I . . . missing a punchline?” 

Wynne shook her head and turned so she was facing Surana, letting the others trail ahead. “It’s not a joke, Neria, let me explain.” She curled two fingers, beckoning Surana to start walking again and they fell into step up the road. “I engaged a powerful demon to save Petra. It sapped me of my strength and will and left me drained. When I had won, I no longer had the energy to keep my heart beating.” 

“But--” Surana blinked and shook her head, shutting her mouth. 

Wynne sighed almost fondly at the thought. “I remember life, ebbing away and I was surrounded by a thick, impenetrable darkness. Then I was enfolded, wrapped in something comforting and soft.” It no longer felt like she was talking to Surana. Wynne was recounting to herself and Surana happened to have been invited to listen. “I was being held back, gently, but firmly, like a mother cradling a child eager to slip from her grasp.” 

Wynne looked up and her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I felt life and warmth flowing into my veins again. I began to become aware of small sounds and the discomfort of my hip against the cold, stone floor.” 

“So you weren’t. . . all the way . . . dead?” Surana puzzled. “Um . . . what?”

“You know of the benevolent spirits that live in the Fade?” 

Surana nodded. “We spent like four months on them, yes.” 

“I was saved by one of those, and it is with me still.” 

Surana’s eyes went wide, almost panicked and Wynne set her hand on her arm to calm the initial shock and terror. 

“It has bonded with me,” Wynne explained, “and it is the only thing that is keeping me alive. As you know, this is not the way of things.” She shook her head and let go of Surana’s arm. “Perhaps the spirit did not expect this, but it is weakening, gradually. I am living on borrowed time.” 

Surana’s shock faded and the terror was replaced with sorrow. She put on a smile and gave Wynne’s arm a squeeze in return for the comfort offered prior. “Well then, I suppose we make the best of the time you have left.” She grinned, forced but vibrant. “No _wonder_ you wanted out of the tower.” 

“I’ve always preferred traveling when the option presents itself.” 

“I’m glad.” Surana chuckled. “We do a lot of it. Please, though, be careful, and let me know if you need anything.” 

“You needn’t fret.” 

Surana shrugged. “Eh, but I’m pretty good at it. I’m worried about everyone else anyway, it’s not out of my way.” 

She smiled and left Wynne, speeding up a little to catch up with the others and came up just behind Alistair as he pulled out five sovereigns and set them in Zevran’s palm, laughing about something. Given how fast Morrigan was walking and the way her shoulders read _murder_ it wasn’t hard to guess that she’d been the butt of whatever joke. 

“You two realize she might just electrocute you both,” Surana raised an eyebrow, her free hand found Alistair’s where it swung at his side and he curled his index finger around hers, almost like holding hands but subtle enough that no one would notice. There was a flutter of warmth, the tiniest thrill at stealing the pleasure of touch. 

“I have a question, if I may,” Zevran said. He draped one arm over Surana’s shoulders and her finger left Alistair’s so she could switch her staff from one side to the other. 

“If it’s “how much farther” then I don’t actually know. More than a day? I think? This is the right road, at least.” 

“Nothing like that,” Zevran assured her. “It is merely that I swore and oath to you.” 

“Ah. Alright, what about it?” 

“I understand your quest and this is all fine and well.” 

“Glad to hear it.” 

“My question pertains to what you intend to do with me once this business is over with.” He shrugged, supreme indifference radiating from everything but his eyes, studying her carefully for her reply. “As a point of curiosity.” 

“Do with you?” Surana repeated, not entirely sure she understood. Zevran hit on everything--mostly Morrigan-- and it wasn’t his usual manner of propositioning someone. Or was it? 

Zevran snorted a small laugh and pushed off her arm, letting both of his swing freely at his sides. “I didn’t not mean to imply anything speci--”

“ _Oh!_ ” Surana hadn’t _actually_ meant to shout, but she shouted. “You mean how you swore to follow me around, or whatever.” Surana shook her head, braid smacking into Alistair’s breastplate with a soft thump. “Zev, I’m not going to hold you to any “oaths”. You’re free to go whenever you’d like.” 

Zevran chuckled an. “Oh, I made the oath willingly. Though, if that’s how you see it, I suppose I understand.” 

“I--I know that. I just . . .”

“But,” Zevran interrupted Surana’s stammering attempt to smooth over any offense and explain herself. “Let’s assume that I didn’t desire to leave when the time came. What then?” 

“You should stick around then,” Surana said immediately. “I could always use the friend. I’ve never had many and you--you’re a good one.” 

Zevran’s smile softened and warmed, brightening his eyes and lending a clear quality to the little laugh when it bubbled up out of his throat. “Indeed?” 

“Indeed.” 

“It is good to know what my options are.” 

“Limitless.” Surana assured him. “I’ve met you.”

* * *

After dinner, Surana stretched out on her stomach, pillow propped up under her chest as Leliana pulled a brush through her hair and made small talk with Zevran about different assassination techniques, Leliana as it happened, favored poison for the distance and Zevran prefered being up close and personal. Leliana spoke lightly, regret occasionally edging her words until she got wrapped up in some anecdote and fell giggling into herself. 

Surana hadn’t quite come to terms with the knowledge that her sweet friend, the gentle cloistered sister, was a talented Orlesian spy and sometimes-assassin, but Zevran didn’t seem at all surprised. It was all easy enough to ignore while Leliana brushed the tangles out of Surana’s waves of hair. 

“You know,” Alistair said, settling down beside them. He had his armor off and a light tunic in its place and he set one hand on the small of Surana’s back. She arched her spine a little to press against his fingers. “I’ve heard about the Orlesian bards.” 

“Who hasn’t.” Leliana shrugged, and set the brush down before starting to braid it. “They’re quite famous, after all.” 

“The stories I heard were a little . . . racier.” Alistair dropped his voice almost conspiratorially. “It had to do with how a bard assassinated her target. How they were . . . lulled into complacency.” 

Surana’s ears went a little red. 

“If those stories were true, who would ever agree to entertain a bard in their court?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, there’s a certain _allure_ to danger, isn’t there? And besides, you couldn’t _all_ be assassins, could you? I’d take my chances.” 

“You talk an excellent game, Alistair, but I do not believe anyone is actually fooled.” Zevran interjected. 

“We had rules about that sort of thing anyway.” Leliana snorted. “ _Strict_ rules.” 

“Such as?”

There was a long paused and Surana shifted to sitting. 

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” 

“Let her alone,” Surana gave Alistair’s shoulder a small shove. 

“Let’s just say I had plenty of reasons to join the Chantry, shall we?” Leliana huffed and resumed braiding Surana’s hair. “And leave it at that.” 

“I didn’t mean to--”

“I know,” Leliana said. “I know.” 

Surana set a hand on Leliana’s knee to offer support and cleared her throat to redirect the topic. “So, has anyone here actually _been_ to Denerim before?” 

“Many times,” Alistair answered, “Arl Eamon once brought me a toy golem from _The Wonders Of Thedas_ when I was little.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Arl Eamon has an estate, we stayed there in the winter.” 

“Only once,” Zevran said. “When Loghain hired me to kill you.” 

Morrigan, who had found a place in the shadows nearby shook her head. 

Leliana nodded. “Indeed, you?”

“I haven’t been away from Kinloch Hold since I was seven.” Surana shrugged. “My mentor Rupert brought me back a hair ribbon though.” Her fingers went to the end of her braid on instinct and she remembered looping the ribbon around Cullen’s fingers that day in the library. “I _begged_ him for one.” 

“We should buy ribbons.” Leliana grinned. “I’ve been wanting to spruce up my shoes for the longest time.”

“Is it a large city?” 

“The largest in Ferelden,” Alistair said.

“Impressive in its way. Nothing compared to Val Royeaux or Antiva City, of course, but really, quite fitting for Ferelden.” 

“What’s _that_ mean?” Alistair huffed. “Ferelden is--”

“I meant no offense, my friend.” Zevran interrupted. “Merely that Denerim is more _brown_ than other capitals.” 

“Nothing wrong with the color brown.” 

“No, no, of course not.” 

“There’re bookshops, right?” Surana asked, unwilling to let the topic change too far. “We’ve got enough that buying say . . . _The Travels of A Chantry Scholar_ isn’t _entirely_ out of the question?” 

“Probably.” Alistair shrugged. 

“Why that book in particular?” Leliana asked. 

“Well. . .” Surana flushed and reached up to tug her bangs back behind her pointed ears. “We have to speak with Scholar Genitivi _anyway_. I was thinking it might be nice to get his notes . . . on some things.” 

Everyone laughed.

* * *

They were ambushed near a bend in the Drakon River where the trees clustered together to limit visibility. If they hadn’t had three spell casters the archers would have picked them to pieces, but fate was kind. 

“Wait!” Leliana said as Zevran advanced on the leader, the last one alive, with a knife. “Don’t kill him!” 

Surana turned to stare at Leliana. “What? Why not?” 

“These are no ordinary bandits. They’re too well-trained and their armor and weapons are too fine.” Leliana’s eyes darkened and she wrinkled her nose. “You know what I mean. Who are you?” 

“Someone who regrets taking you on,” the mercenary leader said, eyeing Zevran’s knife with open terror. “This was supposed to be a simple job. Kill the little red-haired girl and deal with the others as we please.” 

“The little--” Surana growled. 

“Nobody mentioned knife ears or mages.” 

“Not me, then,” Surana’s shoulders settled. 

“You--” Leliana’s eyes went wide. “You came to kill _me_?!” 

“ _Flames_ with that,” Surana growled again. “No one threatens my friends and lives.” She positioned herself between the man on his knees and Leliana. 

“Who wanted me dead? Why?” 

“I don’t get paid to ask why someone wants someone else dead. I just get told what to do and where to go to get my money. Bah. Money. I’ll be lucky to get out of here with my life it seems.” 

“Almost _unrealistically_ lucky.” Zevran said idly, tossing his knife into the air and catching it by the handle. 

“I...uh...had a thought. About that, actually. You’ll like it.” The terrifed would-be-assassin cleared his throat. “Look, I’ve, I’ve got no real quarrel with you. Wasn’t me that wanted you dead, but I know how you can find the one who does.” 

“Keep. Talking.” Surana snarled. 

“Here, directions to get to the house where I was supposed to get my money. It’s in Denerim. Best I can do.” 

Surana snatched the directions from his hand. 

“Thank you.” Leliana looked in shock. “Now leave. I never want to see you again.” 

“Piss off,” Surana confirmed. “Before we change our minds.” 

The would-be-assassin scarpered and Leliana managed to hold herself together for a full heartbeat before her legs started to shake. “I--excuse me.” She shook her head and headed deeper into the trees. 

Surana looked at the others. “I’ll make sure she’s okay.” She didn’t wait for anyone to nod or speak, just turned on her heel and followed the trampled grass and broken brush to where Leliana had folded in on herself. 

“Leliana,” Surana asked, kneeling beside the stump Leliana had crumpled onto. “When you told us you left Orlais because you had grown tired of being a bard. . .” 

“I lied,” Leliana confirmed miserably. “I came to Ferelden and to the Chantry because I was being hunted.” 

“What for?” Surana set her hand on Leliana’s knee and gave a squeeze, trying to convey that _whatever_ it was she would protect her and desperately hoping that that was true. 

“Marjolaine...my bard master . . . my _friend_ ,” the emphasis on “friend” implied more, “framed me, betrayed me.” Leliana looked down at her hands. “She taught me everything, to carry myself like a high-born lady, to blend in with the servants, to enchant with words and song. The skills I learned I used to serve her, my bard-master, because I loved her.” Leliana squeezed her eyes closed and swallowed. Surana tightened her grip on her knee. “And because I enjoyed what I did.” 

“How did she betray you?” 

“It’s my fault, I suppose.” Leliana opened her eyes. “There was a man I was sent to kill for Marjolaine. I was supposed to bring her what he carried. Marjolaine gave me a name and a description and I hunted him down. I found documents on his body--sealed documents.”

“You opened them?”

“Curiosity got the better of me and . . . something told me I needed to know what was in those letters.” Surana stood and moved to Leliana’s back, pulling out her comb and starting to run it gently through her frantic friend’s hair as Leliana began to calm and explain further. “Marjolaine had been selling all kinds of information about Orlais to other countries--Nevarra and Antiva, among others. It was treason.” 

“Isn’t that what bards do?” Surana asked, hoping it wasn’t rude. 

“Some,” Leliana confessed. “But I’d always assumed Marjolaine only operated within Orlais. My life as a bard taught me that my loyalties should be kept fluid. I wasn’t worried about being treason, I was worried that her life would be in danger if she were caught. Orlais has been at war with so many countries, it takes a harsh view of such things.” Leliana shook her head slightly and suppressed a small shudder. “As I later discovered.”

“Oh no.” Surana set the comb down in favor of just wrapping her arms around Leliana’s slender shoulders. “Oh no.” 

Leliana reached up and curled a hand around both of Surana’s wrists. She nodded. “I should have left well enough alone, but I didn’t. I had to tell her I was worried for her life. Marjolaine brushed aside my concerns, she told me it was all in the past and that that was why the documents had to be destroyed.” 

“You believed her.” Surana said softly. 

“I believed her. I kept believing up till the moment they showed me the documents, altered by her hand to make _me_ look the traitor.” 

“Who was “they”?” 

“The Orlesian guards. They captured me and . . .tortured me to make me confess and reveal my conspirators. It was a traitor’s punishment I endured, and at the end of it, all that awaited me was eternity in an unmarked grave.” 

Surana growled low in her throat. “And now she’s hunting you down _again_?”

Leliana nodded miserably. 

“We’ll deal with this, Leliana.” Surana promised. “We will see the end of this. I promise, I’m not going to let anyone kill or arrest or anything you. Alright?” She pressed a kiss to Leliana’s temple. “Come on, we’ve got to keep moving.”


	2. Hustle and Bustle, Toil and Tussle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang takes down Marjolaine and Surana meets Alistair's sister. Hearts are hurt so they can be rebuilt stronger.

Surana had foolishly thought that Redcliffe was a busy city. Standing outside the massive wood and stone gates of the country’s capital she re-evaluated what she meant by “busy” and also by “city”. 

“Loghain’s power base,” Morrigan mused. “‘Twould be too easy for him to capture and kill us here.” 

Surana suppressed a worried shiver. “Then we keep him from knowing we’re . . . us.” She reached up and started to wind her long braid up into a bun like she was going into battle. “He knows what _Alistair and I_ look like, but unless he’s out and about in person it shouldn’t be much of a problem.” She bit down on her cheek. “But we should downplay the Warden thing anyway.” 

“Also the mage thing,” Alistair suggested. “Just to be safe.” 

Neria squeezed her staff in her hand. “You look the part of a templar, Alistair. Wynne’s a respected enchanter. Morrigan and I can . . . we’ll manage. We’re not going to be here _long_ in any case, I hope. A few nights if we have to.” 

“Are you nervous, my friend?” Zevran asked. 

Surana opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again. “Yes.” She muttered. “In addition to being wanted by the guard, probably, it’s. . . I didn’t expect Denerim to be so _big_.” 

“I . . . have never seen such a collection of merchants and people before.” Morrigan commiserated. “Tis always so?” 

“Yep.” Alistair nodded. “They say you can get anything in Denerim. I once got pickpocketed.” 

Zevran laughed from behind them. “Ah, the market district, the pickpocket’s home away from home.” 

“Stay away from my pouch,” Alistair warned. 

“You worry too much, Alistair. I know that Neria tends to keep the coin in any event.” 

“Stay away from _her_ pouch.” 

“So protective! I promise not to touch her pouch unless she offers.” 

“I am _right here_!” 

“It would be no fun if you were not, Neria.” Zevran winked. “Otherwise someone might think I was serious.” 

The chatter was a nice distraction from Denerim’s size.

Alistair’s hand slipped into her own and he gave a squeeze. Surana drew strength from it. She held her chin up and looked at the gates. “Right. First we need to deal with Marjolaine. The fewer people trying to _actively_ kill any of us, the better I’ll feel.”

* * *

The address they’d been given lead to a small apartment in a nicer part of Denerim, near the market square. “Should we knock?” Surana asked, looking to Leliana with full intent of following her lead. 

Leliana shook her head and picked the lock. “The less warning we give, the better,” she whispered. 

The door swung open and they were inside before the hired guards knew what had happened. Leliana stepped over the bodies, looking concerned, if determined, and twisted the handle on the door to the main room. 

“Leliana, my dear! So good to see you again!” The words were spoken in a thick Orlesian accent as an elegant woman, maybe five years older than Leliana, unfolded herself from a settee, holding a bow in one hand. Her smile was warm and affectionate. 

Marjolaine. 

Leliana tensed. “Spare me the pleasantries Marjolaine, I kn--”

“You must forgive the shabby accommodations, my love,” Marjolaine sighed. “I try to be good host but you can see what I have to work with.” She shook her head, long brown locks falling over her face with the express intent of letting her brush them back with practiced elegance. “This whole country smells like wet dog--” 

Stanton whined his offense. 

“--Everywhere. Even now I cannot get the smell out. It is in my hair, my clothes, ugh.” 

“Ferelden doesn’t smell like wet dog!” Alistair leapt to the country’s defense and was entirely ignored. 

“Why are you sending assassins after Leliana?” Surana took a step forward and lightning began to hiss and crackle quietly in the cracks of her sylvanwood staff. 

“So business-like your…” Marjolaine snorted a little, “ _companion._ ”

Surana’s nostrils flared in offense. 

“You had me captured! Tortured!” Leliana demanded. “I thought in Ferelden I would be safe from you. But I’m not. What did I do to make you hate me, so? What did I do to make you want me dead?”

“Dead?” Marjolaine clicked her tongue to admonish the sentiment and shook her head. “I know what you are capable of, my Leliana. Four, five men you could dispatch easily.” Her smile sweetened and she advanced. Surana curled a hand around Leliana’s wrist to keep _her_ from moving forward in turn. “They were simply sent to give you cause to come to me. And see? Here you are.” 

“Liar.” Surana growled, the sound joined by the throaty snarl of Stanton at her side, his ears plastered flat to his head. 

“Ah, Fereldans.” Marjolaine scoffed. 

“You’re so transparent!” Leliana snapped. “What are you really doing here, Marjolaine?”

“In truth?” Marjolaine’s mask of a smile fell away. “You have knowledge you can use against me. For my own safety, I cannot let you be.” A new smile took up residence on Marjolaine’s painted mouth. “And did you think I didn’t know where you were? That I would not watch _my_ Leliana? “Where is she going,” I would wonder, “what is she up to?” The peasant clothes, the chantry, her hair all ragged and messy like a boy, this is not like her. But you sent no messages, barely spoke to anyone.” Marjolaine sighed. “Clever, very clever my love. I had almost let myself relax and then you left the chantry so suddenly! What conclusion could I draw, you tell me?” 

Leliana stared, her jaw hanging open for a moment before fury contorted her features. “You thought I left because of _you_? That after all this time I had some plan for, for revenge? You are insane! Paranoid.” 

“Surprise, Marjolaine,” Surana snapped. “The world does not _actually_ revolve around you.” 

“Oh, such loyalty you inspire, my Leliana.” Marjolaine cackled, she turned her attention to Surana. “You look at her and you see what, a simple girl? A friend? Gentle and warm, it is a lie, an act. One she had perfected under my tutelage.” 

“I am not you, Marjolaine.” Leliana’s fingers inched for the quiver at her hip. “I left because I did not want to become you.” 

“You _are_ me, my Leliana.” Marjolaine sighed. “It’s why we made the team we did. You know why you were a master manipulator? You enjoy it. You enjoy the game and the power it gives you. No one will understand you like I do because we are the same. You cannot change or deny this.” 

“I trust her.” Surana said. “Implicitly.” 

“You will not threaten my or my friends again, Marjolaine.” Leliana planted her feet, arms crossed over her chest, making herself seem bigger. “I want you out of my life. Forever.” 

“You realize that she will hound you wherever you go, yes?” Zevran contributed. 

Surana exhaled. “Zevran’s right.” 

Leliana nodded once. “It ends here.” 

“You think you can kill me, Leliana?” Marjolaine lifted her chin in challenge. “I _made_ you! I can destro--”

The world cut off in a gurgle. Marjolaine reached up to grab for the arrow sticking out of her neck, blood pouring from the puncture wound and out the corners of her pretty painted mouth. Leliana nocked another arrow as the side doors opened and the mercenaries Marjolaine had hired rushed them.

When the fighting was over, Surana took Leliana’s hand and held it to try and quell the trembling. 

“She’s dead.” Leliana observed, her voice empty. “Because of me. We should. . . let’s go. I . . . I need some time.” She squeezed Surana’s fingers in hers. “We’ll talk later?” 

“Of course.” 

They cleaned the blood off and left the apartment, hoping to be long gone before the guard was summoned. The open air was thick with the sounds from the market and the hustle and bustle of everyday life. 

“Alistair,” Surana curled her fingers around his. “You said your sister lived near the market, right?” 

He nodded. 

“Why don’t you and I go visit her? We can all meet up at cam--”

“The Gnawed Noble Inn,” Zevran interrupted. “I’ll get us rooms and buy Leliana a drink or several.” He gave Leliana a smile. “It seems like she could use the company of a less than paragon, for a time.” 

Leliana nodded, still looking shell-shocked. 

Morrigan and Sten headed off towards the Market, ostensibly looking for information about Genitivi while Wynne followed after Leliana and Zevran. 

They left Alistair and Surana in the street. 

“You alright?” He asked quietly. 

Surana shook her head. “I think we could use a pleasant reunion, honestly.” She took her braid out of it’s bun. “And Leliana might have an easier time opening up to the _other_ assassin at first, so.” 

Alistair nodded. “If I remember, Goldanna lives just this way.”

“Nervous?” 

“Nervous? Why would I be--don’t be silly.”

* * *

“I’m a little nervous,” Alistair admitted once they were standing outside of what he hoped was Goldanna’s house. “What if--”

“Knock.” Surana urged. “Just _knock_.” 

“I--yes. We should. Yes.” Alistair swallowed and knocked. The door opened and he drew himself up to his not-unimpressive height and Surana gave him a pat on the back for luck. “Er . . . hello?” 

“You have Linens to wash?” The woman who answered the door had orange hair and a tired expression. “I charge three bits on a bundle, you won’t find better. And don’t trust what that Natalia woman tells you, she’s foreign and she’ll rob you blind.”

Surana’s brow furrowed trying to figure out what being foreign had to do with _anything_ while Alistair stammered out possibly the most awkward “Hello, I think I might be your brother” ever managed in Thedas. 

And given as that’s not an easy thing to say in any situation, Surana had to admit that she found it endearing. 

“My what?” Goldanna wrinkled her nose. “I am Goldanna yes. How do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you up to?” 

“He isn’t.” Surana shook her head. “He’s telling the truth.” 

“Our. . . mother,” Alistair started. “She was a serving girl at Redcliffe Castle a long time ag--”

“You!” Goldanna snapped, recognition lighting over her face like fire. “They told me you was dead!” Goldanna’s eyes narrowed.

“What?” Alistair recoiled and Surana’s hand went back to his back to steady him. “Who? Who told you I died?” 

“Thems at the Castle! I told them the babe was the king’s and they told me you died along with mother! Gave me a coin to shut me up and everything!”

“I...I didn’t know.” Alistair stammered. “The baby didn’t die; I’m him. I’m . . . your brother.” 

Goldanna snorted disdain and put her hands on her hips. “For all the good it does me. _You_ killed mother, you did, and I’ve had to scrape by all this time? That coin didn’t last long and when I went back they ran me off.” 

Surana took a step forward, just passed where Alistair was standing cowed. “That’s hardly his fault, now is it?” 

“And who in the Maker’s name are you?” Goldanna’s glower fixed itself on Surana. “Some pretty knife-ear maid to carry his riches and keep his bed warm?” 

“Hey!” Alistair snapped. “Don’t talk to her that way. She’s a dear friend and a Grey Warden, just like I am.” 

“Oh,” Goldanna snorted. “A prince _and_ a Grey Warden. Well who am I to think poorly of someone so high above me.” Goldanna spat. “I don’t know you, boy. Your royal father forced himself upon my mother and took her away from me. I’ve got _five_ mouths to feed and unless you can help with that I’ve got less than no use for you _or_ your harlot.” 

“I . . I’m sorry . . . I . . . I don’t know what to--”

“How. Dare. You.” Surana gritted through her teeth. “How _dare_ you speak to him like that.” 

“Oh, is that so?” Goldanna huffed. “Get out of my house. The both of you.” 

Surana curled her fingers around Alistair’s elbow, still shaking with barely bridled rage. “Let’s go, Alistair.” 

Alistair nodded and followed her out doors. 

Outside, with the setting sun warm on her face Surana clenched her hands to fists. Alistair’s arms came around her from behind and he rested his chin on her head. “That was . . . not what I expected. To put it lightly. _This_ is the family I’ve wondered about my whole life? That _shrew_ is my sister?”

Surana exhaled a sharp huff and unclenched her fingers, still stuck on what Goldanna had called her. Was that what people saw when they saw her and Alistair? That she was some sort of . . . _pet_? 

“I . . . I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question. Isn’t that what familiar is supposed to do? I . . . I feel like a complete idiot.” 

Surana sighed. “In the tower they taught me that everyone is out for themselves. It’s apparently true out here too.” She shook her head and reached for her braid, finding his fingers instead and deciding they were comforting enough. “A tough lesson, but one I should have remembered. One _you_ should have remembered.” 

“I guess so.” Alistair pulled away and ran a hand through his hair, messing the short gold strands. “Let’s just . . . go meet everyone at the tavern. I don’t want to talk about it any more.”

* * *

Zevran and Leliana were into, but not _well_ into their cups when Alistair and Surana pushed open the door to the tavern. The evening crowd had started to filter in and surana was grateful that her friends had secured a booth tucked into the back of a room. Leliana’s spirits seemed higher, though not by much. 

“So, did anyone find anything?” Surana asked the table as a whole, directing the conversation _away_ from how things had gone at Goldanna’s before anyone could think to ask. 

“I found the residence of the scholar.” Sten said. “The dog helped to sniff him out.” 

Stanton yipped happily, paws holding on to a massive beef bone he was crunching under their table. 

“I also found a flyer pertaining to the “Friends of The Wardens”.”

“Don’t believe the lies,” Surana read aloud. “The hidden Pearl hides the key to resistance. They griffons will rise again?” She raised an eyebrow. “Why is Pearl capitalized?” 

“The Pearl is the brothel,” Zevran and Wynne spoke at the same time and conversation ground to a halt as Wynne took a drink from her cup. “Dears, this is not the first time I’ve been to the city.”

“Is it the first time you’ve been the the brothel?” Surana asked while Alistair went red and shook his head, dropping his eyes to the table in scandalized shock. 

Wynne’s smile warmed to mischievous and she winked. 

Surana decided to let the conversation drop there and assume that Wynne was teasing her, rather than over think it. Wynne hadn’t _always_ been an old woman, but she was and she gave off a maternal air that made picturing her in a brothel doing anything but scowling . . . difficult. 

“Tis almost certainly a trap.” Morrigan commented dly. “Avoiding them is simple enough.” 

Surana looked at the torn flyer Sten had set on the table. “Thank you, Kadan.” She took a sip of ale and made a face, still unused to how bitter the hops were. Bitter, but grounding. “If it _is_ a trap we should spring it before any potential allies get themselves killed.” 

Morrigan made a vaguely disgusted noise.

“Come on, Morrigan. We need the allies if we’re going to get through this. We can’t afford to let Loghain pick off anyone who _might_ be sympathetic to our cause if we’re planning to dispose him.” 

“Tis fair enough, I suppose.” 

“We’ll handle them _after_ Genitivi’s house tomorrow then.” Surana took a long drink of her ale and then coughed, sputtered and made another face. 

“Not to your liking?” Zevran asked, raising a teasing eyebrow. 

“Getting used to it, still.” Surana admitted. “We mostly had tea or water in the tower, occasionally wine.” She set the cup down and put her hand on Leliana’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’ll recover.” Leliana promised. “It was just . . . a shock.” 

Surana nodded. “We’ll talk tonight?” 

“Yes.”

* * *

Alistair walked with her up the stairs to their rooms and pressed a kiss to her forehead before she disappeared. Surana flopped over onto the bed and only looked up when the door opened and Leliana entered, moving so quietly that if Surana hadn’t heard the unmaintained hinges she never would have known. 

The room was small, two beds, one of which Morrigan would have all to herself and one that Leliana and Surana would share with Stanton at their feet. 

Leliana tugged her leathers off and curled up in the bed, closing her eyes when Surana started to stroke her hair. 

“Talk to me,” Surana coaxed quietly, running her fingers through Leliana’s orange hair in lieu of an actual brush. “Tell me what you need.” 

“I was in Lothering for _years_ ,” Leliana explained. There were no tears, somehow, but she set her head in Surana’s lap and curled close. “And she still thought I was plotting against her. She didn’t trust me at all. She love me when she could use and control me and when she couldn’t . . . she wanted me dead.” Leliana shuddered. “It . . . it hurts to realize that I never really knew her.” 

“Is there anything I can do?” 

“You are already helping so much by listening.” Leliana curled closer. “I knew she was ruthless, but never . . . I never knew how far she would go. She was cruel and self-serving, she used people and then discarded them but . . . it was how she survived her life.” Leliana swallowed. “W-what if she’s right? What if we’re the same? I . . . I should just have stayed in the Chantry.” 

“She would have attacked you there eventually. This way, at least, you had people to help you fight back.” 

“Maybe, but that isn’t the point.” Leliana pushed herself to standing and started to pace. “I was a different person there. In the cloister I was safe. I forgot my life as a bard. I didn’t have to watch my back. That’s what made Marjolaine the person she was. It ruined her. I will ruin me too!”

Leliana stopped pacing and curled her arms around herself. “It’s already happened. When we killed her I . . . I enjoyed it. Seeing her dead gave me satisfaction.” 

“She tried to kill you, Leliana.” Surana stood and set her hands on Leliana’s shoulders, realizing for the first time that she came up to her friend’s nose and no higher. “At _least_ twice. She deserved it.” 

“That’s no reason to rejoice over her death. That’s what _she_ would have done and I don’t. . . I don’t want that.” Leliana pressed the heel of her hand to the bridge of her nose. “What we’re doing. . . what we’ve done--hunted men down, killed them--part of me loves it. It invigorates me and this . . . scares me. I . . . I feel myself slipping.” 

“You’re not slipping.” Surana assured her. “This is who you are, and that person can exist easily and happily with the rest of you. You can be Leliana the bard, clever and deadly and beautiful and it doesn’t make you any less Leliana the sister, sweet and soft and kind. Don’t punish yourself for taking pride in your talents.” 

“I did enjoy the intrigue back in Orlais. It was dangerous and chaotic and . . . invigorating. But it destroyed my life.” 

“No. Marjolaine destroyed your life.” 

“I thought the Chantry showed me another path. I thought I was done with this life. . . am I wrong?” 

“It seems like all you were doing in the Chantry was running away, hiding. You believe, Leliana, but you didn’t belong there. You’re wild and vibrant and _exciting_.” Surana lowered her hands. “But it’s your life. I just hate seeing things--people--caged. The idea that you’d cage yourself is . . . distressing.” 

“You’re a dear friend.” Leliana pressed a kiss to Surana’s temple. “And you’ve given me much to think about. Thank you.”


	3. Brothel Bothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes investigate the home of renowned Scholar Ferdinand Genitivi and other interesting locales around Denerim

They had breakfast in the tavern, bacon and eggs and biscuits. Surana let Leliana braid her hair while she braided Zevran’s. She looked up to Sten and smiled. “I could braid yours some mornings, Kadan,” she offered. 

Sten grunted a refusal and shook his head, turning back to his tea. After a moment he squared his shoulders and looked back at her. “Perhaps, Kadan. Some morning.” 

“Anytime,” she assured him with a smile, tying Zevran’s braid into place.

They left the Gnawed Noble as a group, a little later in the morning than they had intended but a proper breakfast and a night in real beds had stolen some of their urgency. Surana walked close to Alistair at first, laughing as he and Morrigan bickered about _nothing_ again. Gradually her pace slowed so she was bringing up the rear with Wynne and Zevran, watching the others in front of her. 

“You’re quite taken with each other, aren’t you?” Wynne asked her with a small smile that faded all too quickly. 

Surana looked around for the other subject of the second before she turned a little bit pink. “I . . . Alistair? I . . .” She sighed and ran her hand over her braid. “Yes. Or, well, I’m ...fond... of him.” 

“I can see that.” Wynne gave a sage nod. “I’ve been meaning to ask about your intentions with him. He’s a fine lad, skilled in battle but . . . inexperienced when it comes to affairs of the heart. I would hate to see him get hurt.” 

“That would make two of us. Probably three, if we’re including Alistair in the equation.” She shifted her gaze uncomfortably from Wynne to the rooftops of the houses as they walked. 

“Love is, ultimately, selfish, Neria.” Wynne continued, apparently unwilling to let her ignore the conversation the way she wanted. “It demands that one give themselves to another, puts another person above all else. A Grey Warden can not afford to be selfish. You may be forced to make a choice between saving your love and saving everyone else. What would you do then.” 

Surana bit down on her cheek and took a breath. “The best I could in that moment.”

“That’s no--”

“I’m scared enough of this as it _is_ , Wynne.” Surana snapped, fighting to keep her voice soft enough that it wouldn’t carry to Alistair and the others. “The last person, the only _other_ person I’ve had feelings for was _Cullen_. You . . . you saw him at the tower and that’s not even taking into account the fact that we . . . we _couldn’t_ have . . .” Surana’s tongue tied itself in frustrated knots and she took another breath. “You’re worrying prematurely _anyway_. Alistair and I . . . we agreed to put off . . . whatever we might have until after we deal with the Blight.”

Wynne’s hand settled on her shoulder and Surana resisted the urge to tear away from her. “I’m sorry, Neria. I had forgotten about you and Rutherford.” 

“It’s, fine.” Surana grumbled. “It’s just . . . there wasn’t an “and” and it’s . . . fine. I’m just . . . I don’t know how to do this. Whatever this is. And I . . . I’m worried that I might actually lov--”

“Wait. I recognize you.” Someone shouted as they passed. 

Everyone but Surana turned on instinct and she had to turn around when she realized she was the only one walking. Alistair was being addressed by a tall man, probably in his thirties with a tired face made greyer by the long blond hair he had pulled back and the shiny armor displaying the King’s colors. 

“From Ostagar.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re a Grey Warden. Duncan’s apprentice. You killed my friend--and good King Cailan. I demand satisfaction, Ser.” 

“Loghain’s charges against the wardens are false.” Alistair snapped back. Surana tightened her grip on her staff. 

“This isn’t a good idea.” Leliana warned quietly. Her hand moving for her quiver, one of Zevran’s knives was already out, concealed behind him. 

“So you would compound slander on top of treason? You _dare_ smear Teryn Loghain’s word?” 

Surana curled her hand through Alistair’s elbow, making a show of pulling him back to lend her earnest expression creedence. Trying to seem like the cool head before the lightning at the tips of her fingers was let loose. “ _Think_ , Ser. The Wardens would never help the Darkspawn. The civil war is doing _nothing_ but assisting the blight.” 

“I dislike your tone, Ser.” The knight growled. 

Surana tightened her fingers on Alistair’s elbow, holding him back until the _right_ moment. 

“But . . . you may be right.” The knight shook his head. “I may regret this, but I cannot duel someone who may be guiltless. If I find proof, we will meet again.” 

“Fine.” Alistair held his chin up. “I’ll be ready.” 

Surana relaxed as the challenger walked away and let go of Alistair’s arm. “I’m going to call that a victory.” 

“You should have killed him and been done with it.” Morrigan scoffed. “He initiated the challenge.” 

“I agree with the Witch.” Sten said, refusing to look at Morrigan as he did. “A lesson should have been taught.” 

“And brawling in the Market Streets wouldn’t have earned us any friends. We don’t need to draw the guard’s attention.” 

“I think we’re near Genitivi’s house anyway.” Leliana’s voice broke through the argument like sunshine piercing angry clouds. “Perhaps it would be best if we focused on that.” She gestured. “That is the right street, is it not?”

They walked down the narrow, cobbled streets, checking addresses until they found the right one. Surana’s heart fluttered. The greatest scholar of the age. Or, at least her favorite. She hoped he was home. His books gave the impression that he spent much of his time traveling. 

“Knock.” Alistair teased. 

“I’m getting to that.” Surana muttered in response. She rapped sharply at the door with her knuckles and bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet before the door opened and revealed a man much too young to be Genitivi. 

“Hello?” He said. He had a guarded face, trying to hard to seem pleasant. Stanton gave a low whine at Surana’s side and she gave his ears a stroke. 

“Um, hello! We’re looking for Scholar Genitivi? On behalf of the Arl of Redcliffe?” 

“Why?” The man at the door said too sharply, he corrected in a moment and tried again for the smile. 

“May we come in?” Leliana asked, adopting her sweetest voice. 

The man at the door dithered a moment before stepping aside to grant them access. Stanton pressed close to Surana’s legs and she rubbed his ears. 

“We heard he was looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes.” Surana said once the door was closed again. “Has he made any progress in his hunt?” 

“Progress, yes.” The young man shook his head. “But whether he’s _found_ the Urn or not, Maker only knows.”

“How do you mean?” Surana asked. 

“I haven’t heard anything from Brother Genitivi in weeks. It’s so unlike him. I am afraid something’s happened. Genitivi’s research into the Urn may have led him into danger.” 

It was the way he said _Genitivi_ , coupled with Stanton’s whining that set Surana’s teeth on edge. “You’re Weylon, right? Genitivi made mention of you in one of his books. You’ve been his assistant for years, right?” 

Weylon, apparently, nodded and confirmed the uncomfortable feeling in Surana’s gut. If the tone of Genitivi’s work was any judge, Weylon was always _indispensable_ to Genitivi’s research. The two were close. 

Weylon ought to have called the scholar _Ferdinand_.

“Why would looking for the urn lead him into danger?” 

“Perhaps the Urn has been lost for a reason.” Weylon responded quickly. He shook his head and panic rose in his voice. “I-I tried to send help, but some knights came from Redcliffe looking for him not long ago. I send them after Genitivi and they too have disappeared.” 

“Where did you send them?” Surana gave Stanton’s neck a pat and she brought both hands up so she was leaning her weight entirely on her staff. Not a threat at all. Nothing like a threat. Stanton pressed his nose to the floor and started to sniff. 

“No, don’t ask me.” Weylon said sadly. “You’ll just go after them. This search is a curse. On all of us. Some things are not meant to be found. I know that now.” 

Stanton had made his way to the shut door in the back of the room. He looked over at Surana and whined, cocking his head to one side. She gave a _very_ slight nod and he reared up on his hind legs and started to scratch at the wood. 

“What are you--” Weylon spun abruptly. “Stop your dog, Ser.” 

“What’s in there?” Surana asked stepping lightly towards where Stanton was. 

“That room is not for guests. It’s full of books and papers and I’d _rather_ they were not disturbed.”

Stanton growled. 

“I won’t disturb them.” Surana gave Weylon a playful smile. “I’ve been a fan for years, I’d love to see what Genitivi’s been working o--aah!” 

Weylon grabbed her wrist and jerked her painfully backwards, a knife pressed to her throat. “G-Genitivi was a very private pers--urk.” 

The last syllable was lost as something sharp poked through Weylon’s stomach to tickle Surana’s back and then withdrew. The knife at her neck clattered to the floor and Zevran caught her elbows as Weylon’s corpse fell to join it. 

“Are you alright?” Zevran asked. 

“Fine.” Surana reached up to touch her neck and curling around the leather thong of her warden pendant once she was certain she was intact. “Fine. Thank you, Zev.” She squeezed his forearms in gratitude. “I wasn’t expecting the knife.” 

“I gathered as much.” 

“Neria?” Alistair called after he opened the door Stanton had been scratching at. “I don’t think that was Weylon.” 

Surana shook her head. “I know that much but why?” She walked over and bit down on her index finger as the smell hit her. The corpse of a young man was flopped in a corner and seemed to have been there for several days, not long enough to have started to stink really. 

“Weylon, probably,” Surana said sadly. “Rest well at the Maker’s side.” She turned from the body to the papers on the desk and started to rummage through them for any of Genitivi’s notes that might have been useful, finding eventually a map with a small village in the Frostbacks marked and labeled “Haven”. 

“What should we do with the bodies?” Alistair asked. 

“Weylon, at least, should be committed to the Maker’s side with fire,” Leliana said. 

“The stink will draw the guard.” Sten commented. 

Surana huffed and nodded. “You’re right, Kadan. I’m sorry Leliana. Someone will find the bodies and it will be their problem. We can’t--the guard could be a serious problem.” 

“I understand,” Leliana nodded, but did not look pleased about it. “That’s wisest.” 

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

* * *

“Hey, _The Wonders of Thedas_!” Alistair said as they passed a shop with a brightly painted sign bearing the Circle’s heraldry. “Arl Eamon once bought me a miniature golem doll here.” He cleared his throat. “When i was young. Really young.” 

“Do you think they sell ribbons here?” Leliana asked. “I’ve been meaning to spruce up my boots for the longest time and I know Neria could use a new hair ribbon.” 

“You’re not wrong.” Surana nodded. “The Circle owns the shop, but I’ve never been here.” She fiddled with her braid, “But, you all, knew that, because I’ve never. . . yeah.” 

“I haven’t been here in ages.” Wynne said approvingly. 

Surana looked at Sten, he was glaring at the sign and muttered that the name didn’t make any sense. She touched his arm gently. “Kadan, the shop primarily sells magic accoutrements. Would you be more comfortable out here with Stanton?”

“Yes.” 

“Is there anything you would like from inside?”

“No.” 

“Alright.” Surana gave Stanton’s head a pat. “You wait here with him, boy.” 

Stanton waggled his butt and then sprawled out lazily beside Sten, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Surana pushed the door open after her other companions and was greeted with sweet, smoking smells and the chime of small bells above the door. The Tranquil at the counter fixed his dead eyes on her and spoke. “Welcome to the Wonders of Thedas. We carry items crafted by the circle as well as a variety of antiquities, is there anything you would like to see?”

Surana’s stomach twisted a little. She looked away and shook her head. “Not just yet. I’m going to look around for a bit.” She hurried past the counter, past where Wynne was examining the books (pausing only for a moment to check a title) to where Leliana was admiring a pair of glass slippers. 

“You know, I had though The Wonders of Thedas was a whorehouse. Pity.” Zevran said from beside a rack of slightly glowing rocks.

“You did not.” Surana challenged. 

“No, but I had hoped.” 

She rolled her eyes and started to drift among the displays, looking for something interesting. Her eyes settled on a chessboard exactly like the one probably gathering dust in the Circle Library. Closing her eyes, it was too easy to picture Cullen bending over the board and moving a piece. His turns took half as long as hers and he almost always won. The smirk that coiled smugly on his mouth when he thought he had her.

How many times had she wanted to press her mouth to his and bit the insufferably tease off his lips? 

“I have that very Queen, you know,” Alistair said from next to her. “The crown’s a little broken and the paint’s scuffed, but I think mine’s prettier.”

“Do you play?” She asked, opening her eyes and looking up at him. 

“Not often, Teagan taught me when I was a boy of course, I’ve never been any good at it.”

“We should play if we ever get the chance. I’m no good either, but it’s a great deal of fun.” 

“And how could I say no to that?” Alistair’s hand settled on her shoulder.

* * *

The Pearl was set in a nicer part of town than Surana had been lead to believe brothels tended to be in. The stoop was swept clean and the red lantern that hung outside the door seemed mostly for show. 

“I thought it would be. . . seedier,” she admitted, craning her neck a little too take the whole building in. “I thought brothels were seedy.” 

“Many of them are,” Zevran explained. “But many are like considerably more pleasant taverns where company can be purchased just as easily as drink.”

“You don’t say.” 

“Also considerably more expensive.” 

Surana shook her head and rolled her eyes before walking into the building. She started to blush as sounds echoed from distant rooms and kept her eyes firmly on the floor. 

“Afternoon, you the ones Kylon sent to deal with them?” The woman, dressed more modestly than just about anyone else in the brothel, jerked her thumb towards a collection of boisterous men in armor. From where she was standing and the expressions on the faces of the working boys and girls, Surana could guess that the armed men had more than overstayed their welcome. 

“Um, no.” Surana shook her head. “But if you need them thrown out I think we can manage that.” 

“Just don’t kill them.” The woman nodded. “Usually our man Keaton would see ‘em off, but he’s laid up with a sprain. Bloody useless til he heals.” 

Surana smiled, nodded, and made her way over to the crowd of boisterous and admittedly barbaric seeming mercenaries marked by the ascendant white bird on their shields. She cleared her throat and brushed her bangs back behind her ear.

“My, aren’t _you_ the pretty one?” A man leered at her, his eyes fixed on her breasts with such open intensity that Surana was actively taken aback. His eyes left her and lazily strolled up to Alistair and Sten. “What? Don’t like me looking at your--”

Surana crossed her arms and shook her head. “I don’t work here.” 

“Ah.Then piss off. This affair’s for White Falcons only.” 

“Annnnd this affair is over. Get out before there’s trouble.”

He snorted. “Ey, Cap’n.” 

“Wut?” Another man almost staggeringly drunk, stood up and made his way over. 

“Get a load of this elf.” The speaker turned back to Surana. “You’re tellin’ _us_ what to do.” 

“The local nobles want solid, reliable soldiers, don’t they? Not riff-raff.” 

“You…” 

“She’s gotta point.” The captain interrupted. “Don’t wanna, don’t wanna get on Loghain’s bad side? Do we? Men? Clear out!” 

The White Falcons made their way out of the Pearl, likely knocking things over on purpose. The woman who hired them dropped a small bag of coin into Surana’s hand. “Thanks for that. Would’ve been all night with those louts. You here for anything in particular?” 

“Meeting some people upstairs.” Surana smiled, tucking the coins into her pouch. “Shouldn’t take too long, happy to have helped.” 

They made their way upstairs and Surana was distracted by the sounds of a fight. She stuck her head into one of the open rooms, a wide, public space for drinking or playing cards or whatever, Surana guessed. A dark skinned woman with a teasing smile sheathed her knife and Surana stood out of the way as three men, two of them bleeding, darted past. 

“Be glad I only took your money.” The woman shouted back. Zevran’s head joined Surana’s at the doorway. “Hehe, fools.” 

“Isabela?” Zevran asked. He brightened. “Isabela!” 

“You know her?” Surana asked as Zevran walked right past her and up to Isabela who was reclining _on_ the table, studying him with a wry smile. 

“Look who it is. Come to apologize for killing my lord husband, Zevran?” Isabela snorted, but her smile didn’t waver. 

“Oh come now, you know that was just business, Isabela. Business that turned out well for you--you inherited the ship, did you not?” Zevran raised an eyebrow and set a hand on the table so his face was close to hers. 

Isabela, to Surana’s shock, pecked him on the mouth. “I never did like the greasy bastard, and the Siren treats me far better than she ever treated him.” 

“So . . .you two _do_ know each other?” Surana tilted her head to one side. 

“Indeed.” Zevran straightened. “Neria, allow me to introduce Isabela, Queen of the Eastern Seas and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn. Isabela my dear, you will no doubt be amused to hear that I am traveling with the Grey wardens.” 

“Grey Wardens.” Isabela chuckled. “Charmed.” 

“Likewise,” Surana tilted her head, “Your _majesty_.” She flushed pink the minute the word left her mouth, praying that everyone else had either gone suddenly deaf or thought it was as funny as her brain had. 

Isabela, luckily, laughed. “Adorable.” 

“Er. . . thanks. So, you’re the captain of a ship?” 

“Yes. _The Siren’s Call_ , she’s my pride and joy and she’s seen me all the way from my own Rivain to the Llomerryn to the coast of Par Vollen and back. All I need is the sea and the wind at my back. Soon as the boys have their fill of dry land we’ll be off again. We’re getting as far from the Blight as possible.” 

“Can’t say I blame you.” Surana shrugged.

Sten huffed. 

“Way I see it,” Isabela looked up at Sten and wrinkled her nose, “I can sail as far away from it as I need to, even to the other side of the Anderfels. The sea will look after her own.” 

Surana was sorely tempted to point out that the Blight wasn’t something one could really out run, but there wouldn’t have been a point. Instead she shrugged one shoulder amicably. “I’m a Grey Warden. We don’t get to run.” 

“Naturally. If you do save us all, sweet thing, I will return to thank you personally.” 

“You may have to fight Alistair for that, my dear.” Zevran teased. “Though, he is also a Grey Warden.” 

Alistair and Surana both turned scarlet. 

Isebela looked Alistair up and down with a lewdness Surana thought had been invented for fictions and nodded appreciatively. Surana reached instinctively for him before catching herself and trying to quell a small, possessive outburst in her chest until Isabela grinned and said, “He can come too. It’ll be fun.” 

Alistair muttered something Surana couldn’t hear over the blood rushing up to her ears. Too. As in, the three of them. At once. How did you get that many limbs in one place? Her cheeks darkened as her brain filled in the question with pictures of the sheer mathematical possibilities. Zevran and Isabela made plans for the evening that Surana was only half-listening to. Zevran kissed Isabela goodbye and teased Leliana about being jealous when Leliana wrinkled her nose at him. 

She, of course, retorted with an apology for Isabela’s poor taste. 

Surana tried to keep her laughter contained as she, still blushing like a mad thing, followed the notably less-amused Morrigan and Sten towards the room the flyer had indicated. Surana took a breath to steady and refocus herself, remembering that possible death lurked behind the door.

She raised her hand and rapped sharply with her knuckles high enough that the “Friends” on the other side wouldn’t be looking _down_ when they opened the door. Giving her the option of a blindside if it was necessary. 

“What’s the password?” The person on the other side of the door grunted. 

“The griffons will rise again,” Surana said in a conspiratorially hushed voice, tightening her hand on her staff and stepping a half-step behind Alistair. 

“Come in, quickly.” 

Surana looked to the others and nodded. Everyone pulled out their weapons as Surana stepped aside to let Alistair, and more importantly Alistair’s _shield_ , through the door first.   
Death did not fall upon them instantly. 

“Another Grey Warden supporter?” The speaker had a sneer in his voice and a the hilt of his sheathed sword in his hand. His mouth was scarred, giving him a perpetual half-smile. 

“Not just a supporter, Paedan,” muttered the elf at his side. She certainly seemed the sharpest of the lot and indicated Surana with her pointy chin. “Those are the Grey Wardens Arl Howe is looking for.”

“Our trap landed a Warden?” Paedan looked equal parts shocked and delighted. His hand tightened on the hilt of his weapon. “You’ve got one chance to surrender.”

“Loghain framed the Wardens. We were not responsible for Cailan’s death.” Surana couldn’t keep her tone 

“For what it’s worth, I believe you, but that ain’t the point. We’re not common guards, we’re Arl Howe’s elite. Shaevra, Tennant, Jary--let’s kill ourselves a warden.”

Alistair hit Paedan in the face with his shield and followed up with a quick strike to the temple with the hilt of his sword only to have Tennant stick an arrow in his shoulder. The quarters were too close for Sten’s greatsword to be much use and Leliana couldn’t get a clear shot. 

Surana ground her teeth together so hard they squeaked. She raised her hand to the sky and twisted the veil, channeling power through her fingers and letting the lightning spark through her hair and lance down her braid causing it to stick up in new and strange directions. 

She threw the bolt at Howe’s men and it bounced from one to the other, unfortunately striking Alistair in the process but she dropped her staff and caught him glowing pale blue-green as she mended the damage before it could take. 

There was a scream in the hall. 

“APOSTATES! APPOOOSSSSSSTATES! GET THE TEMPLARS!” 

“ _Fuck_.” 

“Get her out.” Alistair turned and shoved Surana brusquely towards Sten. “We’ll catch up.” 

Surana, Zevran, Wynne and Morrigan left the Pearl through a window, heedless of Surana’s muted complaints that she wasn’t _really_ an apostate. She was a warden.   
It wasn’t the same thing at all. 

But templars didn’t often care and Loghain’s guard were likely to kill her just for being a warden.

They caught their breath in the dwindling shadows in a Denerim back alley. She worried her lower lip with her teeth and looked over her shoulder, hoping to see Alistair or one of the others coming up behind them, but of course she wasn’t that lucky. 

“Something troubles you?” Zevran asked, clamping a hand on her shoulder. Surana shrugged and to her surprise Zevran’s hand didn’t relent. She sighed and pulled her braid over one shoulder where she could fiddle with the ends. 

“Not really?” She shrugged. “I’m a little worried about Alistair, he took the end of that blow and I think I healed most of it but I can’t be sure until he’s here.” _In my arms_. 

Zevran’s mouth twisted playfully and just a little cruel, like he knew more than she was saying, but he just squeezed her arm and gestured with his head towards the market district and the Gnawed Noble Inn. 

She kicked a rock as they went and poked around her thoughts for something to make small talk with. Wynne and Morrigan were glaring at each other and sniping back and forth about Morrigan’s claims that the Circle mages _allowed_ themselves to be leashed. 

And Surana didn’t have the heart to argue either side. Wynne was right, there were good reasons to fear mages, she had seen that in the tower, the blood magic and the abominations. But it was the leash that drove them to it. She had _known_ so many of those monsters when they’d been men. 

“I have a wonder, Neria.” Morrigan started, raising one eyebrow as Surana turned to address whatever concern there was. She found Morrigan actively ignoring Wynne’s glare and instead fixing her amber yellow eyes on Surana’s face, chin held haughtily up. “Did you never seek escape from your prison?” 

“What?” 

“Your disdain and fear of templars is obvious to anyone with eyes, so did you not try and flee your prison?” 

Surana’s cheeks flushed red. She shook her head and swallowed. “No, it never . . . it didn’t seem like an option?” 

“Surely other mages tried?” 

Surana thought of Fennik, grateful that she had been immobilized too far away to hear his bones break when he finally hit the ground. She thought about Karl’s friend, the one Greagoir had locked in solitary for a year after his sixth, maybe seventh, escape mostly to keep him safe from the other mages after costing them their time outside. 

“It didn’t . . . not for me?” She tried. “I didn’t have anything outside the tower but, while there I had Jowan and my mentor and even . . . yeah.” She fidgeted with her ribbon. “And with my phylactery there didn’t seem to be much of a _point_.” 

“Phylactery?” 

“When we first join the circle the First Enchanter takes some of our blood so the templars can find us if we run.” 

Morrigan snorted. 

“What?” 

“Blood magic.” 

Surana shook her head but couldn’t find the words to argue about how it wasn’t _blood magic_ because there weren’t any demons involved but the words turned to ash when they hit her tongue. She just shrugged again. “In any case, it’s getting dark and I’d rather not be caught unawares in a back alley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this took me forever to update! Sorry I've been kinda of busy and distractable! I should be back on a normal update schedule soon!


	4. We Were Just Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang prepares to leave Denerim

Surana double checked that she had packed everything and then hoisted her pack onto her shoulders. She was the last one ready, a trend becoming both familiar and irritating. She took the stairs two at a time, trying to give at least the _illusion_ that she was hurrying. Sten did not look impressed, but this was also familiar.

Alistair caught her by the shoulder as they headed for the door after paying their tab. “Walk with me?”   
Surana curled her pinkie around his, holding hands without holding hands. “Are you alright?” she asked, “I think I manag--”  
“I’m fine.” He gave her pinkie a squeeze. “You know, you’re cute when you worry. You get this little blush and your nose scrunches up. Most people just get wrinkles.”  
“I think the nose-scrunching is indicative of wrinkles.” She shook her head. “What’s on your mind?”   
“It’s about what you said earlier.” He ran his free hand through his hair to keep from dropping her pinkie. “I think, maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time I do things for myself.”   
Surana nodded. “I think that’s a good idea. You need to take care of _you_ if you’re going to look after anyone else. At least, that’s what Rupert always told me when I was over-extending to take care of Jowan.”   
“Are you . . . sure?”   
“It’s up to you, Alistair,” she shrugged. “It’s your life.”   
He nodded and slid his hand so it was actually holding hers. Surana flushed.   
“Are _you_ alright? You looked like you’d been hit with something when that woman started screaming.”  
“Oh, that.” Surana pulled her hand out of his and started to fidget with the end of her braid. “It was just. . . a shock. I knew that people are _afraid_ of mages, but I’d never had someone _scream_ at me like that before.” 

Alistair reached up and took her hand again, pulling it away from her braid and lacing his fingers around hers before she undid the ribbon and had to stop to rebraid it. 

She snorted a small laugh and squeezed his fingers in amidst her own. “But mostly I was worried about you, Leliana, Sten and Stanton. Did the guards give you any trouble?”   
“No more than you’d expect.”  
“I expect a _lot_ , Alistair.” She raised an eyebrow at him.   
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He chuckled and smirked before letting go of her hand and walking to catch up with Leliana near the front of the group, leaving Surana with her cheeks about to catch fire and her jaw half open because _Alistair_ was many, many thing but _smooth_ or _suave_ wasn’t one of them. 

She felt marginally better when Alistair, clearly blushing himself, almost walked tripped over a merchant’s rope to the tune of Morrigan’s derisive laughter. Surana’s world realigned in that moment and she flicked her braid back over her shoulder, rolled her eyes, and jogged a little bit to catch up. 

Zevran was regaling Leliana with one of his exploits, (perhaps _sexpolit_ was the more appropriate term, given his eyebrows and her bemused scowl) and they both parted to make room for her. 

“It sounds like you _enjoyed_ being an assassin,” Leliana teased him. 

“Why not? Being a Crow in Antiva has it’s benefits, you are respected, you are feared, the authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses.” Zevran shrugged and leaned his elbow on Surana’s shoulder, grinning all the while. 

“And the assassinating?” Surana asked, her curiosity biting through any sense of tact. 

Zevran looked at her for a moment, as though trying to gauge if she was judging him or not, though he decided fairly immediately that he didn’t care. He laughed. “Some people simply need assassinating, or do you disagree?” 

Leliana opened her mouth as if she were going to disagree out of instinct or pure contrariness, but she shrugged instead. 

“I couldn’t say,” Surana conceded. “I’ve only been out of the tower a little while. You’re probably right.

Zevran gave a wistful nod and sighed. “I often find myself an instrument of fate and console myself with the knowledge that one way or another, most of these people have it coming.” He shrugged and pushed off her shoulder. “As for enjoying the act of killing itself, why not? There is a certain artistry to the deed, the pleasure of sinking your blade into their flesh and knowing that their life is in your hands.” 

“I can sort of see that,” Surana admitted. “Not with killing people perse, but the power thrill. There’s nothing _quite_ like bending primal forces to my will.” She blushed, red freckles almost invisible as her cheeks went scarlet, and cleared her throat. “The . . . uh . . . circle discourages that talk.” 

“IDon’t get me wrong, there were many parts of being a crow I did not enjoy.” Zevran continued. “Being treated as an expendable object and the rules, ugh,” he wrinkled his nose with obvious disdain, “so many rules. But simply being an assassin? I like it just fine.”

“Huh.”

“I will continue to do it, if I can, even if I am not a Crow. Honestly, could you picture me doing something else?” 

Surana shrugged and looked at Leliana for a moment, met with the same concerned _is it bad that everything Zevran just said makes perfect sense to me_ sort of half-frown. “Why not? You’re talented and clever. I’m pretty sure you could do anything you put your mind to.” 

He grinned, clearly both flattered and pleased by that fact. “Truly? Whereas I am content to do what I am good at. It’s not a skill many come by honestly.” 

“I suppose not.” 

“But, it is far more likely that we will both die horribly before that happens.” Zevran said it with an indecently idly smile. He folded his hands behind his head and sighed dreamily up at the sky. “Eaten by darkspawn or slain by the Crows. It’s still pleasant enough to think about, in any case.”

“Being eaten or assassinated or your dreams for the future?” Leliana needled, her own smile back in place. 

“Who can say.” Zevran shrugged his thin shoulders.

“But if you enjoy being an assassin, why did you want to leave the crows?” Surana asked, taking advantage of their casual gait to probe for more details about Zevran’s life. “Not that I’m not grateful that you didn’t kill me and also that you’re around.”

“ A fair question,” Zevran answered easily, moving back to settle his elbow back on her shoulder. “Being an assassin is, after all a living. I was simply never given an opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?”

“Fair, I guess that’s why I left the tower, after all.” She looked up at the sky. “Well, that and Duncan. . . and Jowan acting . . .” she cleared her throat and shook the unpleasant train of thought away. “But is there anything you’d rather do? I know you said you like it, but still.”

“Now that you mention it. I’m not,” Zevran tapped his lip with his index finger, “. . . entirely certain. I was purchased by the Crows at the age of seven, for three whole sovereigns I’m told. A good price considering that I was all ribs and bones and didn’t know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end.”

“ _Seven_? Maker, that’s when they took me to the circle.”

“The Crows buy all their assassins that way. Buy them young, raise them to know nothing but murder. If you do poorly in your training, you die.”

Surana’s jaw dropped and she _stared_ him for a long moment. “That. . . Zevran that’s _terrible_!” 

“Oh? So much worse than the chantry taking young mages?” 

“That isn’t the--” Surana frowned because it _was_ worse. Young apprentices didn’t die. Well, they weren’t taught exclusively _one_ dogma. 

Okay, perhaps Zevran had a point. 

“No? In any case the Crows who survive enjoy the benefits.” 

“Benefits?” Surana looked skeptical and then over at Leliana to see if her disbelief was shared by Leliana was admiring a pair of shoes. 

“In Antiva being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth, gets you women . . . and men, whatever it is you fancy.” His wistful smile faded and he pushed off of her to cross his arms over his chest, perpetually animated. “But it means always doing what is expected of you. Always. And it means being expendable. It’s a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty, but confining.”

Surana gave him a sympathetic half smile that didn’t touch her pretty purple-blue eyes. “Sounds familiar.” 

“As for the future, presuming there is one, I don’t know. It might be interesting to go into business for myself, for a change. Far away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go.”

Surana grinned more fully, raising her shoulders as she swelled with delight at the idea of friendship as more than an intangible wish. “And I’m more than glad to have you along.”

Zevran grinned back and started waggling his eyebrows in the same way he had turned them on Leliana when Surana had first interrupted their conversation. “And here I am, happy to be had.” He winked. 

Surana almost tripped, laughing hard enough that when she reached up to her face her long index finger caught and wiped away a single tear. 

“What are you two laughing about?” Wynne asked. 

“Our passionate plans for later this evening.” Zevran waggled his eyebrows at _her_. “Care to join us?” 

Surana, still laughing gave him a shove with her shoulder, knocking him into Leliana who gave a small, indignant shout and shoved back, nearly sending all three of them into Stanton, padding along happily at Surana’s side.

* * *

They were passing through a narrow side street, one that opened up into a wider courtyard when they spotted the guard. Initially, Surana started to turn to avoid them until she heard the shouting.

“You sent that elf bitch to turn out my men!” 

“Get ‘em, Chief!” 

“No one gives orders to the White Falcons ‘sides me!” 

“Maker,” Surana tugged a hand over her face. “This _is_ our problem, isn’t it?” 

“It needn’t be,” Morrigan commented. “One would suspect the city guard of having this in hand.” 

An arrow thumped and embedded itself fortunately in Alistair’s shield. Surana flung a bolt of ice in the direction of the shooter. 

“Careful,” Alistair warned. 

“I’ll try,” was the nearest to a promise she could manage before following up with another ice bolt. It struck the archer in the chest and froze him solid. “Spread out,” she shouted. 

What seemed like moments later the battle was over and she leaned heavily on her staff, one hand resting on Stanton’s head as he sat patiently at her side. “Are you alright?” she asked the Sergeant Alistair was offering a hand up. 

He nodded, and dropped Alistair’s hand with curt gratitude. “Do people actually fight you voluntarily?” 

“Er. . . more often than I’d like.” Surana managed an awkward smile. 

“Sergeant Keylon. Didn’t think I’d be rescued by Grey Wardens.” 

Surana stared and saw Zevran go for a knife. She grabbed his elbow. 

“You . . . uh . . . recognized us?” 

“Your pictures were passed around the guard,” he explained. “No worries, not about to turn you in after you saved my neck. Besides, even if I believed the story about what happened at Ostagar you can clearly handle yourself in a fight. Some of my lads would get hurt and then I’d have to explain to their noble fathers that being a guard is _dangerous_.” He rolled his eyes and snorted. “Don’t break any laws and we don’t have a problem.” 

“Thats . . . very kind of you,” Surana said, rubbing the side of her neck, feeling more than a little uncomfortable that the guard had her and Alistair’s _pictures_ , but at least the sergeant seemed content to leave them alone. 

Sargent Keylon straightened more fully and looked at his men. “Right. You lot, back to the barracks, double time.” 

Surana watched them go and shook her head in vague disbelief. 

“We should get on the road,” she sighed, giving Stanton’s ears a scratch. “It’s a long walk to Haven, if Scholar Genitivi’s maps are accurate and Eamon might be running out of time.” As she said the word _time_ her hand found Alistair’s, curling brazenly around his fingers. The leather of his glove was soft under her palm and his metal gauntlets were cold but too large to be sharp as her thin fingers folded easily in the places the metal didn’t need to protect.


End file.
